dreamsofpoison | for halfassed

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for halfassed

Just how and why Loki was back on Earth was a mystery. There had been no communication from Thor any Asgardian representatives. It wasn't obvious that Loki was back, in fact, his presence could have gone unnoticed if not for, well, mischief.

He'd somehow taken something belonging to one Clint Barton. Something very dear to him. His bow. Said bow now sat on a mantel above the fireplace in his current residence. It was a stone and log cabin. Lodge would be a more appropriate description. Logs make up A frame structures to support the roof. They also provide an excellent place to suspend someone from. Which inevitably happened when Barton followed the little trail of bread crumbs to find his bow and ultimately, Loki.

He's suspended near the fireplace, which is lit. Turned so he can see his bow sitting there on the mantel. He's hung high enough his toes barely brush the ground and apparently Loki took great care in securing his wrists in a specific type of cuff. The kind that would ensure he could keep him there for quite some time without much damage to his hands or wrists. He was stripped of his weapons and all his clothes save for his pants. Hence why he choose the beam close to the fire. It was the dead of winter outside.

As for Loki himself, he stood by the window, watching the snow fall and waiting for the subtle signs his captive has awoken. He's far removed from the armor and leather of before. Instead he's in simple mortal clothes but they still had a certain Loki-esque flair to them.

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Loki's expression goes blank then he shrugs. His gaze wanders for a moment. There was no convincing lie he could think of and the truth was not worth admitting.

"I... had other concerns."

"I went down on my knees for you," says Clint. "You found time for that."

"Once," Loki clarifies. His gaze wanders to the ground then back to him. "I couldn't afford to become distracted." Because oh if he let himself he would have. There were many many things he wished to do with him or make him do. He never did get to test the extent of the Tesseract imposed loyalty.

"So I'm distracting," says Clint, flatly. "I guess that's flattering."

Not really.

Maybe a little.

The muscles in Loki's jaw tighten. He didn't tell him nearly everything but if it's enough to stop further questions he'll take it. He does badly want to push for more contact now and that might even show on his face a little.

A long hesitation.

"You can't tell anyone about this." That's what the problem is, for Clint. His reputation would self-destruct. Anything left would be gone. He'd be homeless again, without a mission, without a leader. Maybe even fucking arrested.

But something left in him still wants Loki. And doesn't want to endure ten minutes, much less two days, with Loki giving him that look.

"I am Loki. I lie," he responds, "Were I to tell anyone. Who would believe me?" He asks that sincerely. The moments he tells the truth are almost always ignored as lies and his lies are taken as truth.

"If we are to go to SHIELD, saying anything against you would not be in my best interest. I would imagine it would leave me rather dead."

Sad but true. They wouldn't believe him.

Clint exhales, a long breath. "Then come here."

His words immediately set of a chain of panic, somewhere low in his chest. He doesn't know what part of him is relenting and what part of him is fighting. He doesn't know anything -- just that he wants to know why it is Loki's becoming obsessed with him. He wants to feed that obsession. He wants it to be power, in itself.

"What?" he asks, startled by that response. Oh, he heard him perfectly, he just has trouble believing it.

He hesitantly pushes off from the door frame. A wave of suspicion comes over him. It could be a trick but then this is what he was going for wasn't it. He stops, a few feet from him, seemingly reluctant.

Clint rolls his eyes. He moves brashly, boldly, recklessly. He slides off the chair and goes to his knees.

"There," he says. "That better?"

That, strangely, makes Loki step back a foot. He looks at him oddly. There is a thrill to have him on his knees again, he won't deny that. It's sorely lacking in the same feeling he had before. The feeling of absolute certainty that he would do exactly as he said and stop when told.

His apparent uncertainty is short lived and he strikes on an idea. "Touch yourself," he says softly.

Two days. Just two days, and he'd burn Loki out of his system, turn him in at SHIELD, and get rid of this shit.

He swallows. His throat's dry, suddenly. It's an obvious sign of nervousness; if he were a little more on his game, he wouldn't have shown that much.

He shifts up a little, enough to get his pants open, down about an inch. He draws himself out. And if he wasn't fully hard a minute ago, he sure is now. He doesn't make a show out of it. He's not sure how to make a show out of it, frankly, so it's just slow pulls, the way he masturbates when he knows he has a lot of time. In this case, it's because he doesn't particularly want to head to an orgasm, not right now.

Loki lets out a soft exhale. He doesn't seem to care how he's going about it, just that he's doing it. He inches in closer to rest a hand on Clint's head.

"Good, good," he says a trace of wonder in his voice. He is doing what he asks without the Tesseract! "Now, touch yourself as you would me," he says in a half request.

Yeah -- Loki's into it. A lot more into it than even Clint thought. This is good, he has some control over the God. His rejection at the end of the two days is going to sting like hell.

How would he even touch Loki? With reverence, he guesses. Gentle, even though Loki would probably want him to be rough.

So he switches to the pads of his fingers, dragging in abstract patterns up his shaft. Circles the top and feels the liquid welling there. His eyes lift to Loki, watching Loki's reaction.

It's probably a good thing Loki doesn't know that's what he's planning. But even if he did he wouldn't stop this. In a crazy way, he does have a plan. Well, several plans. A couple hinge on Clint but the master back-up plan does not. But all of that is beside the point.

Right now he is watching very closely. His breathing becomes deeper. His mouth opens. The hand on his hair tightens. Yes, he would like it rough but there is a strange thrill in this. He actually can't rightly remember the last time he had gentle.

Clint shivers, like a tense racehorse, like a tamed hound. Loki's desire flits through him like nervousness. Yeah, yeah, he would be gentle, and he would be creative.

"How about the stuff that's not anatomically possible to do on myself?" he asks.

There's a shiver from Loki, he'll blame that on a mortal body. For some reason he has little trouble finding his voice to answer. He's forced to clear his throat before he speaks.

"Show me then," he says, it comes out sounding like permission.

He tells himself to forget the rest. Forget the shit that Loki did, remember when Clint found him shivering in the privacy of the tunnels every single damn day, remember the way he held Clint's eyes and said what do you need. How sweet it was just to know that Loki was satisfied.

This is so fucked-up.

He takes Loki by the hips and directs him to the chair, pulling him down. Hands undo the clasp of his pants, encourage him up so Clint can peel them away. He's always been kind of abstractly fascinated with this process, the moments in which a person goes from being ordinary, fully-clothed, to giving their body to someone else.

He reaches out and runs a thumb up Loki's cock. Spreads Loki's knees and settles between, feeling obscurely like he's kneeling in front of a throne. He licks up Loki's length, and his hand settles back on his own cock. Can't resist it.

Loki moves where directed easily. He can do little else, not that he'd mention that, he was beginning to think he'd no longer be able to just stand there.

He let's out a slow exhale as he is exposed. He's a fair bit hard already then harder when touched. He makes a small muffled sound at the feel of his tongue. His hands hover like he wants to take hold of his head and just force things along faster. Eventually, his hands settle on the arms of the chair where he grips it tightly.

He draws his tongue over the tip of Loki's cock. "What happened to that silver tongue?" he asks, surprising himself in that it isn't mocking, it's actually kind of hopeful. He wants Loki to speak. Wants to hear that voice, as he sucks him off.

He starts taking Loki in, letting his jaw relax, feeling the weight of Loki on his tongue. Such a fucking turn-on, he can't even believe it.

Loki gives a shaky laugh. That is a very good question. His grip on the chair has started to turn his knuckles white. Gentle, it seems, gets him very very hard.

"How--" he struggles to keep his voice even, "How long have you wanted to do this?"

"How long do you think?" Asshole. It was the second that Clint realized what kind of being Loki was, how he was a league above what humanity could even hope to reach for. Finally, a commander worth a subordinate like him -- that's what it felt like. Finally someone who could command him and set him loose, who could hold complete mastery and still let Clint show off the best of himself.

It's a hell of a rush, having this kind of power over Loki. Knowing what effect he has on him.

He bobs his head, and then presses down further, taking in about half of Loki's length before skimming his lips down the side of his shaft. He savors this; he wants this.

An amused sound is the only response Loki offers to that question. There's a growing tension in him and frankly, the slow pace is maddening. His hips twitch in a little aborted thrust when he's in his mouth.

His breathing grows harder and again he stops speaking. Far from trusting his own voice.

"Yeah." Breathed, and Clint takes himself in hand, strokes firmly as he swallows around Loki's length. First time he'd ever done this, he was under the influence of the scepter, but then it had been so easy -- the control over his muscles had been so fine. He remembers the basic concept, and lets Loki's length slide down his throat. His hips twitch forward, overeager.

A little grunt from Loki. He's keeping his hips relatively still while he's practically squirming everywhere else. Almost like he's never had a blow job before.

He finally gives in and lets a hand drift over Clint's head. Not forceful, just combing through his short hair. Then a airy, breathless laugh. "You will finish before I," he says shakily, half daring him to go faster.

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